


While Stumbling Where Our Hearts Beat Regular Time

by skoosiepants



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF, Fall Out Boy, Jonas Brothers, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-30
Updated: 2009-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin had been born this way; he’s been changing since he was thirteen. There’s pain, but it doesn’t hurt. It just <i>is.</i> It’s just his bones doing what they’re supposed to do, and he licks blood off his knees and paws before padding over to his half open window and jumping down onto the fire escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While Stumbling Where Our Hearts Beat Regular Time

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this is NOT an A little Less Sixteen Candles… AU, however, just to confuse and astound you, I’ve used some characters from that verse. Secondly, I did research! But did I do werewolf research? Of course not. I spent an inordinate amount of time researching the fable that Ryan tells Kevin, one single scene (but it’s totally integral!) – the rest, well. I’m a bullshitter, not a fact-checker. I bullshit with confidence; it’s what got me through 4 years of college. This isn’t beta’d, but only because I wanted to get it up in time for Halloween. I at least had starflowers (who is lovely and helpful!) check it for plot-holes :) Title is from Kissing the Beehive by Wolf Parade. Happy Halloween!

Kevin does not feel comfortable around Mike Carden. He gets hot and itchy, has to fight the urge to slink away and hide from him, so it’s kind of hard working with him – Kevin does his best to make sure they’re not scheduled in the bookstore at the same time, but with a grand total of four employees, it’s not all that easy to do. And Kevin’s not even sure why he’s so uncomfortable, because it’s not like Mike’s mean or anything. He’ll give Kevin nods and semi-pleasant greetings. There’s just—something. Something in the way he holds himself, the way he looks Kevin in the eyes, that makes Kevin want to, like, roll over and bare his tummy. It’s kind of embarrassing.

And then, one evening, Mike’s friend William shows up. He says, “Hello,” and doesn’t blink and nudges the cold, round tip of his cane under Kevin’s chin and Kevin realizes, duh, he’s a _vampire._

*

It takes Kevin two hours. Two hours, after William leaves, tossing a cat-smile over his shoulder at Kevin, letting Mike steer him out the front door of the bookstore. Two tense, verge of panic hours before Kevin realizes he’s had five day shifts with Mike over the past two weeks, and Mike hasn’t burned to a fiery crisp yet.

So. _Friends_ with a vampire. Maybe more than one; vampires are almost as bad as werewolves when it comes to packs and covens.

It’s really not all that comforting.

*

Mike grins at him now. Sharp, knowing grins, but William doesn’t stop by the shop at night again, so that’s something.

Kevin avoids Mike’s eyes as much as possible. He talks to his hands, fingers twisting together, knuckles white from thinning skin, and Mike doesn’t call him on it. If anything, he seems _amused._ Like he pushes into Kevin’s space just to see him duck his head, just to see him curl into himself, press back against the stacks, the wall, the counter, anything to keep from touching him.

It’s not funny. There’s an almost-permanent ache in his chest, and Kevin has to swallow down small noises, trying to will away the flush he’s sure is blotching all over his pale skin.

*

“Puppy,” William says, and Kevin freezes, a garbage bag in each hand.

In a fair fight, Kevin’s pretty sure he could hold his own against any vampire. The problem, of course, is that vampires don’t fight fair.

William just looks at him, though, a speculative gleam in his reflective eyes. There’s a yellow-orange streetlight at the end of the alleyway, making William look knife thin and imposingly tall, his shadow stretching.

Kevin feels a touch on his mind, brushing against it, feather light, but then William’s shaking his head, grinning wryly, and he says, “Sorry, force of habit.”

He steps closer, and Kevin takes a step back.

Someone moves into the mouth of the alley, and William stops him with a wave of his hand, and Kevin realizes he’s _trapped_ , because he’s never been as fast as his brothers, and he’s certainly not as fast as a vampire. In the time it’d take him to turn and grope for the back door to the shop, William would have his throat ripped open.

“Now, now,” William says, “no need for gruesome thoughts like those. We’re all civilized here.” His teeth flash. “Well, _I_ am. I’ve never been so sure about strays, you see. Properly collared pets are one thing, but other— _beasts_ tend to turn on you when cornered, I’ve found.” He presses a long finger to his chin, tilts his head. “Tell me, puppy, how sharp are your claws?”

The figure behind William shifts on his feet. “Bill.”

William’s mouth falls into a pout. “You’re ruining my fun.”

“Bill,” he says again, a short, irritated growl in his voice.

“Fine.” William huffs, shakes of his intensity like a cloak. “No one understands _loyalty_ , anymore. No one appreciates the love behind a proper threatening, it breaks my tender heart.”

“You’re full of shit,” the guy says, and Kevin’s ninety-five percent certain it’s Mike, back there, and that does not make Kevin feel any better about this situation at all.

William makes a dismissive sound, then taps Kevin on the chest with his cane. “Watch yourself, puppy,” he says, “or I’ll be forced to have you neutered, and, honestly, that won’t be any fun for anyone.”

*

He could quit. He could go home, but his dad’s death is too fresh, and he doesn’t want to fight with his brothers. He’s never seriously wanted to fight _anyone_ , so he calls Joe once a day and Nick twice a week and tells them he’s fine, even though he’d spent his first full moon alone, pacing his apartment.

He’d torn his couch apart with restless energy, but it was better than going outside. He’d heard them, someone, some pack, but he has no idea how to approach them. His only pack has ever been his family.

He doesn’t tell Nick that, though, because Nick would tell him to come home, and he doesn’t tell Joe, because Joe would just call him a pussy.

Kevin won’t go home. Nick and Joe can squabble about his birthright, because Kevin doesn’t want to lead them, but he doesn’t want to grovel at their feet, either – he might be the oldest, but they can be overbearing and overprotective - and this has got to be better. At least for right now.

*

Besides Mike, Kevin works with Ross - a thin, tall guy with bony wrists and shag hair and too much eye makeup - and their boss, Bryar.

It’s weird, because Kevin gets the impression that Mike and Bryar don’t really like each other. Bryar will smile at Kevin and give him friendly shoulder-pats. He’ll laugh and ruffle his hair and make sure he takes his fifteen minute breaks and that he eats his lunch. But Bryar doesn’t smile at Mike, and Mike acts almost _hostile_ towards Bryar, and Kevin always feels like he’s somehow caught in the middle.

“Are they always like this?” Kevin asks Ross, and Ross shrugs.

Ross is usually pretty quiet, but sometimes he’s just the right kind of gossipy.

“Bob’s okay with Mike,” Ross says. He cuts his teeth into his lower lip, darts his gaze to the side, a little wary. “You never stop being family, you know? It’s all the vampires he has a problem with.”

Kevin nods, even though he’s not sure what that means. He thinks the vampire thing is kind of a given, really, and Bryar and Mike look nothing alike at all.

*

Walker comes in at least once a week. Mostly to see Ross, Kevin thinks, but sometimes just to buy a magazine or drop off a cup of coffee for Bryar. Walker’s never there when Mike is. Kevin doesn’t find this strange until Mike _is_ there, and Walker’s affable grin melts from his mouth and Mike’s fists clench.

Walker says, quiet, “Mike,” and Mike spins on his heel and stalks away.

Walker shrugs at Kevin, hands in his pockets, self-depreciating.

Ross snorts. He says, “It’s not going to be that easy, Jon,” and Walker says, “It could be,” with a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Kevin ducks his head, pretends he isn’t listening.

“He’s never going to go near Tom again,” Ross says.

“I don’t want him to,” Walker says, but his voice is sad.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Kevin keeps his eyes locked on the pile of books he’s sorting, listens to their steady, even breaths.

Finally, Walker says, “He’s still here, though, right?”

And, apparently, that means something.

*

Vampires unnerve Kevin. For weeks, he doesn’t see William, and then he stumbles on a dapperly dressed guy just outside his walk-up apartment. Pale-faced and smirking, lips an unnatural shade of red. He bows, just slightly, and says, “I’ve got strict orders to escort you to work.” He waggles his eyebrows, and on anyone else it would’ve looked ridiculously seductive. On him, it just makes him look kind of hungry.

“Uh, that’s okay,” Kevin says. He backs up a step, but the vampire is whip-quick and grabs hold of his arm.

“I’m Brendon,” he says. “William sent me. Don’t worry, everything’s on the up and up.”

Kevin doesn’t know what to do. Brendon seems earnest enough, but Kevin knows you should _never_ trust a vampire, so he just backs up again, tries to twist his arm out of Brendon’s grip.

Surprisingly, though, Brendon lets him loose instead of gripping him tighter. He grins, flashing sharp fangs. “Oh, I like you,” Brendon says. He jerks his head towards the sidewalk. “Come on, I promise not to snack along the way.”

Kevin could flee back inside, but he’s already going to be late to the store, and he doesn’t want to call Bryar, doesn’t want to explain how he’s being stalked by eerily polite vampires.

Brendon arches his eyebrows expectantly, rocking back on his boot heels.

Kevin sighs and falls into step beside him.

*

Whenever Mike rolls up his sleeves, Kevin finds himself looking. There are no marks, though, at least none where Kevin can see. No stamp of ownership on the inside of a wrist, higher on his forearm, but he knows that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Mike slants him odd looks, but doesn’t say anything.

And then the odd looks morph into smirks, and Kevin gets majorly flustered, because it almost could be, kind of, misconstrued as, like, Kevin staring at _Mike_. Mike _already_ tries to invade Kevin’s personal space as much and as innocuously as possible, like he wants to see how many shades of red he can make Kevin turn in a single shift – he steps it up, eyes laughing, and Kevin’s throat goes bone dry.

*

Kevin had been born this way; he’s been changing since he was thirteen. There’s pain, but it doesn’t hurt. It just _is_. It’s just his bones doing what they’re supposed to do, and he licks blood off his knees and paws before padding over to his half open window and jumping down onto the fire escape.

The city smells worse now than it ever did before. Kevin misses the open farmland of his home, the strong scent of hay, of cut grass, moss and mud, bugs and horses and rabbits. He pauses on the bottom rung of the metal stairs and smells only death.

_Too close_ , he thinks, and growls deep and low in his chest before recognizing William, leaning nonchalantly against dirty brick.

“Oh ho,” William says. “What’s this? Distemper, perhaps. No good, lone puppies get that surprisingly often around us. I thought maybe you were different.” William straightens up. He hefts his cane, idly runs his fingers along the rounded tip. “This saddens me, puppy, it truly does.”

Kevin’s hackles rise. There are several of them, Kevin notices, besides William. He thinks this is some kind of ambush, like they were waiting for him, but he doesn’t know why.

William twists his cane and slips a long, slim blade out of the end, and Kevin finds he can’t move. Can’t do anything but shrink back when William ambles closer, but Kevin’s not helpless. He’s never, _ever_ been helpless, not like this, so he lashes out before the lethally sharp tip even touches him.

As soon as he sinks his teeth into William’s hand, unearthly white, paper-thin flesh breaking open almost too easily, a blur of black barrels into his side, snapping, tearing at Kevin’s shoulder, and Kevin yelps. He yelps and jumps back and knocks his open mouth into the other wolf’s face, pushing, and then there are howls in the distance, loud enough to freeze them both.

Kevin pants into the dark fur, nose full of musk and dead things and it isn’t until the huge gray wolf is practically over top of them, stance wide, head high, that Kevin realizes the black wolf still has his teeth clamped into Kevin’s shoulder.

He gingerly lets go, slinking back, and Kevin whimpers and twists to lick at the wound, the sting that’s traveling up and down his foreleg. When a nose nudges his own, pushing his head away, Kevin notices that the black wolf is gone, as are all the vampires, and he has no actual idea what just happened here.

The gray wolf takes his neck softly between his jaws, urging Kevin to his feet. A smaller, lighter-colored wolf paces behind him, yipping anxiously, and Kevin just wants to go back to his apartment. He just wants to slump down on his ruined couch, but the two herd him in the opposite direction, slipping down shadowed streets, and Kevin struggles through pain to keep up.

*

Mike doesn’t show up to work for three days, and Bryar watches Kevin like a hawk when he finally does. Mike doesn’t look at Kevin at all.

Contrary to whatever Nick says, Kevin is not stupid.

*

“You’re such a loser,” Joe says, but his tone’s pretty affectionate. “I can’t believe you got yourself into the middle of some kind of werewolf-vampire war.”

“I didn’t!” Kevin says. He still doesn’t understand what happened, why William approached him in the first place, why Mike attacked him, why Bryar scowls at Mike with his mouth while his blue eyes keep this soft, worried hue.

Kevin tugs his coat closer around him with one hand, ignores the twinge in his shoulder. His cell phone is cold against his face, but he feels better walking home in the dark with Joe’s voice in his ear.

“It’s not a war, Joe,” Kevin says. “It’s just. Weird.” It’s weird, because Mike _attacked_ him. A werewolf attacked him because of a vampire, and it seems like no one, on either side, is happy about it. Kevin can say that with confidence, given that William’s suddenly appeared in front of him, frowning, rhythmically slapping a dove-gray glove into his palm. “Uh.”

“I don’t like you,” William says.

Kevin blinks. He curls his fingers tight around his cell, but doesn’t hang up. Joe calls his name, but Kevin just stares at William, watches him watching him with eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like you, puppy,” he repeats. “I don’t like you because Mike likes you, which means, sadly, that I must apologize for my behavior the other night.”

Kevin swallows hard. “Okay.”

Joe says, “Okay, what? What?” and Kevin just says, “Hang on, Joe.”

William licks the corner of his lips. “Is there something you’d like to say to me, as well?” he asks impatiently.

“I’m. I’m sorry, too?” Kevin says.

William nods. “Not too painful there, was it? I suggest we put this unpleasantness behind us. I apologized for baiting you, you apologized for nearly maiming me. For the record, puppy,” he says, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was testing your mettle. It all went slightly pear-shaped.”

Kevin doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to believe anything that comes out of William’s mouth.

William says, “Ta, little one,” flicks the end of Kevin’s nose, and then Kevin blinks and he’s gone.

“Don’t tell Nick any of this,” he says to Joe.

“Duh,” Joe says. “Nick’d be on your doorstep by morning.”

*

Bryar is a man of few words. He keeps an eye on Kevin, though, and walks him home whenever they close the shop together, and Kevin’s not surprised to find him at his door on the next full moon. He’s a little surprised to see Ross and Walker with him, but he probably shouldn’t be.

They eat pizza and Walker shows him his scar, the jagged silver teeth marks on his belly, and Bryar’s the only one who doesn’t blink when Kevin explains how he never turned, how he was born into a family of weres – generation after generation of werewolves, a messed-up legacy, and Kevin gets the feeling that it’s kind of rare here. But it doesn’t matter in the end, because it’s not like any one of them, born or bitten, had a choice.

*

Kevin watches Walker, the little light wolf from before, and Ross tussle on his living room floor. He knows they’d rather be outside, chasing shadows down the narrow streets, stalking through the stands of young maples and oaks planted in the nearby park, but Kevin isn’t leaving the apartment this time, and they seem determined to keep him company.

The big gray, Bryar, is curled up on his couch, surveying them all with eyes at half-mast, indulgently fond.

It’s nice, Kevin thinks, not being all alone.

But then there’s a noise at his window, a scratching, and Bryar’s head jerks up with a throaty growl, the fur of his ruff rimming his head like a lion. They watch, ears pricked, as the pane glides open easily, even though Kevin had made sure it was properly locked before the change. And then Brendon’s grinning face is there, and Mike’s slipping soundlessly over the sill and into the room.

“Brought you a present, friends.” Brendon tips his hat. “Ross,” he says, and Ross snaps his teeth at him in a snarl. “Always a pleasure.”

He’s gone before Bryar even gets to his feet.

Mike is dark and sleek with a narrow snout and big paws. He noses Bryar’s chin, and Ross, long-legged and tawny, wriggles happily on his back and yips until Mike licks under his ear. Walker whines and low-crawls, tail thumping rhythmically on the threadbare rug, and Mike holds out for a full minute before huffing and gently biting the back of Walker’s neck, shaking him with a mock-growl.

Kevin shrinks into the shadow thrown by the wide arm of his couch, curls his tail over his paws. He stares down at the beige carpet and presses up against the shredded upholstery in an attempt to stem the stupid little tremors running through his body, because he’s not _afraid_ of Mike. His shoulder, fully-healed, suddenly aches so hard he can feel it in his teeth.

Black paws nudge into his eye-line, and Kevin holds carefully still while Mike licks over his jaw, one of his ears, then flops down next to him, leaning his weight into Kevin’s side.

He still smells like too much death, like he’s been sleeping with vampires, but he smells like Walker now, too, like Ross, and Kevin’s silent when Mike rests his head along Kevin’s withers, letting out a low chuff of air.

*

The papers are always full of mysterious deaths, telltale punctures marring wrists and necks and thighs, but the pack, Ross tells him, avoids killing anything human. The morning after the last day of the full moon, though, a uniformed police officer is the first customer in the bookshop, a lopsided grin on his mouth, tired eyes full of wary concern.

Bryar’s arms tense around a stack of books. He drops them on the front counter and says, “Smith.”

Smith nods. He says, “Something came in last night, Bryar.” He shoots Kevin a look. “Can we talk alone?”

Bryar crosses his arms over his chest. “Here’s fine.”

“Okay.” Smith sighs. “Okay, right. Southside of the park, down by the runoff drain. Animal attack call came in around three.” He lets the statement hang, and Bryar stares at him, stone-faced, and Kevin thinks there is no way Smith, whoever he is, can outlast Bryar when he wants to be stoic and stubborn.

“Jesus Christ, Bryar,” Smith says finally, but he sounds half-amused. His sleeves are rolled up, he cocks a hip against the counter, one hand braced on the edge, and Kevin sees a scar on the inside of his wrist – a burned scar, like after a tattoo’s been removed, and Smith rubs it idly and grimaces when he catches Kevin looking.

“Um, sorry,” Kevin says.

“They can be very persuasive when they want something,” he says, more embarrassed than bitter.

Kevin’s more impressed, though. He’s never heard of anyone walking away.

“Look,” Smith says to Bryar, “I’m not accusing anyone of anything, but it’s pretty ugly. Something big did this. Something big and mean, so just think about it, let me know if you find out anything. There’s more than just your pack around here.”

“Wasn’t Carden, either,” Bryar says, and Smith says, resigned, “Didn’t say it was. Fuck, give me a mountain lion and I’ll be happy.”

They stare at each other some more, and Kevin wonders at the animosity rolling off of Bryar, because Smith seems mostly okay, aside from the whole misspent vampiric past thing.

Smith taps his fingers on the counter before straightening up, pushing off towards the door. Over his shoulder, he says, “Tell Conrad. And tell Ryan I was by, he’ll want to call and chew me out later.”

*

“Werewolf,” Walker says immediately, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck.

“One of ours?” Ross asks, fingers poised over the till.

“Can’t fucking tell. Siska was nervous about something, though.” Walker shakes his head, leans over the counter and drops his voice on, “Mike never showed up. That last night.”

Kevin’s fingers tighten around his pen, focusing so hard on the ledger the little rows of numbers start to blur. They’d spent all three days of the full moon with Kevin, except Mike _hadn’t_ come around on the third, and Kevin had tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed about that. He’d always been really bad at lying.

*

Outside of the change, Kevin’s never really had any heightened senses. Nick could always differentiate scents, Joe can spot a tiny field mouse from over fifty feet away, but Kevin’s just Kevin; sturdy, oblivious, friendly. He wears glasses to read, and any kind of flower stops up his nose and makes him sneeze.

He never notices vampires until they’re right in front of him. He never notices hunters at all.

He’s darted and down before he can even make a sound.

*

Kevin swims blearily back into consciousness and realizes he’s tied to a chair.

“You’re new,” someone says.

Kevin blinks, sees a guy with a lot of hair and a really big gun. He’s pointing the really big gun at Kevin.

“You’re not pack,” he says, “or you’d reek of Conrad. Strays make me nervous. When I’m nervous, I tend to shoot things.”

“Um.” Kevin bites back a squeak when the guy starts waving the gun around.

“Stop scaring the kid, Joe.” A short guy, dark cap, red-blonde hair wisping out the sides, steps into view, clutching a huge book and frowning at him.

“I’m—” Kevin scrambles for words, doesn’t say _I’m pack_ , because he’s not, obviously, he’s technically homeless without his brothers. Ever since William, he’s not fond of the word _stray_. “I work with Bryar. And Ross.”

“Oh, fuck,” Joe says. “Fuckity, fuck, Patrick, we stole him off _Bryar_.”

Patrick says, “That doesn’t mean anything,” but he sounds doubtful.

Long hair, blocky glasses, sword strapped to his back, too amused smirk on his mouth – another guy moves behind Joe, crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Bryar’s probably going to kill you, Joe. I can’t wait.”

“Fuck off, Hurley,” Joe says, then palms his face and groans. “I’m a dead man.”

“Nah, Bryar likes you.”

They keep coming, Kevin thinks, and he’s still tied uncomfortably to a chair, and with this new guy, dark circles under his eyes, _vampire_ , Kevin finally begins to struggle.

He doesn’t have the preternatural strength, though, like his dad always had, so his wrists just end up raw from the rope, bleeding, his chest heaving in rapidly growing panic, and Hurley wrests the gun out of Joe’s hand and darts him again.

*

When Kevin wakes up, it’s to another unfamiliar face. He’s untied now, though, a heap on the floor, and he pushes onto his elbows.

“You’re Kevin.” He’s scruffy cheeked, sprawled low in a chair, knees wide, a cigarette hooked between curled fingers. His hair’s messy, like he just rolled out of bed, clad in a gray hoodie and worn jeans. “I’m Tom,” he says. “Tom Conrad.”

Kevin doesn’t know what the name means, but he knows it means something – he’s been brought up too often, by too many people. He nods slowly, and stays on the floor.

Conrad smiles. It’s a bland smile, but Kevin instantly relaxes, feels a little warmth spread through his chest. He thinks, _alpha_ , and smiles back.

“You’re a good kid,” Conrad says. He shifts, flicks his cigarette off to the side, gets to his feet. He reaches out, briefly pushes his hand through Kevin’s hair. “I’m gonna let Bryar get you home.”

Bryar’s apparently there, too, since Kevin can hear the yelling as soon as Conrad opens the door to leave.

He hears, “—ucking _kid_ , Trohman, and you darted him _twice_?”

“Hey, no, that was all Andy—”

“Joe.”

“The second time, the _second time_ ,” Joe says stridently. “And he’s a stray, dude, you can’t blame us after the shit that went down in the park.”

And then Conrad says, calmly, “He’s not a stray,” and Kevin’s smile stretches wider; he rubs the heel of a palm over his mouth to hide it, cheeks heating, and it’s never felt like this before, this belonging, this being _accepted_ – he thinks it’s different than when you just _are_ , when it’s all you’ve ever known. He didn’t choose his pack, before. But this one chose him.

*

He’s in the backroom with Ross, tucked into a corner on his break – Ross has a slim book of poetry balanced on his knees, Kevin has his head tipped back, staring up at the tiled ceiling.

Kevin says, “What happened—what happened with Mike?”

He can feel Ross shrug. “William’s really good at getting what he wants.”

“Smith—”

Ross stiffens. “Brendon,” he says darkly. “They can all fuck off and die, as far as I’m concerned, but Mike—” He pauses. “It’s complicated.”

Kevin’s already figured out that it’s complicated. And that it has to do with Conrad just as much as it has to do with William.

“Here’s the thing,” Ross says, slapping his book shut and getting to his feet. He stares down at Kevin. “You don’t give Mike ultimatums, or he’ll make the choices you don’t want him to make.”

*

Mike corners Kevin by the young adult books. He presses him up against the shelves and slips his mouth over Kevin’s pulse and then pulls away, sneering. His hands are fit tight on Kevin’s hips and Kevin’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he wants—he wants—

“Conrad,” Mike says, and laughs like it isn’t funny at all.

*

Life isn’t fair, Kevin thinks. He’s gotten something he’s always wanted, but Mike turns away from him now, ignores him, and Kevin can’t help but feel like he’s lost something important that he’s never thought of wanting before.

*

“Joe says you’ve joined a pack,” Nick says, and Nick sounds pissed.

Kevin says, slightly confused, “Well, yeah. I thought—I mean, I was supposed to.”

Nick says, “You were _supposed_ to come home,” and he doesn’t say _you weren’t supposed to be able to survive without us_ , but Kevin can hear the words anyway.

“Nick,” Kevin says. “Nick, I. I need this.” He doesn’t say that he’s still scared, that he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, that he’s in love with a were leashed by _vampires_ , and oh—oh, gosh darn it, he’s maybe _in love_ , how pathetic is that?

Nick sighs. “You can always come back, though,” he says, and Kevin knows he means forever and ever and whenever he wants.

“Yeah,” Kevin says, and hopes he never has to.

*

It snows during the next full moon. Big, fat, sticky flakes, and Kevin’s outer coat of fur is already soaked and crystallized on the tips by the time they reach the park. There are howls echoing in and out of the trees and Kevin sees flashes of white, of gray, of bodies dark as shadows.

Walker chases Ross into the darkness, and Kevin trots slower after them, content to hang back. It isn’t until he loses sight of them that he realizes Bryar’s gone, too. He stops, cocks his head, ears alert, and listens to the hushed ping of falling snow, the bays and barks in the distance. He shakes, flinging tiny shards of ice off his fur, then flops down under a tree, close to the trunk where the layer of snow is thinnest, and waits.

*

At some point, a little white wolf finds him, tackles him, and Kevin spends an hour dodging through trees and shrubs, nipping playfully at her heels. They run and run and she circles behind a tree, sliding into a one-eighty turn, pouncing on him when his momentum makes him scramble for footing as he spots her game. It’s _fun_ ; it’s more fun than he’s had in a while, and he squirms below her, pushing at her jaw with his paws, tail sweeping away light piles of snow, down to the short tufts of tough, yellow-green grass underneath.

He rolls them over, laughs spilling out in rumbling growls, but she wriggles out of his hold and darts off again, Kevin pausing only a second before following behind.

The growls don’t even register at first, there’s so many of them out there, but then a rangy blue-gray wolf lunges out of the dark, legs splayed, back hunched, lips pulled back in a snarl, and the little white wolf backpedals into Kevin, yipping in surprise.

There’s blood on the wiry fur of the wolf’s jaw, Kevin can smell it, and his eyes gleam yellow and mean in the moonlight. Kevin’s seen those eyes before.

Kevin pushes the white wolf down and lowers his own body, waits until the tension in the blue unwinds; waits ‘til he spots a perceptible wag of his tail.

 

*

  
Upstate, Kevin’s old pack consists of mainly family, but they’ve always been open and welcoming to strangers. In the years since Kevin first started changing, their pack had grown to over a dozen, with only the core eight actual blood relations. They don’t hunt humans, either, like where Kevin is now, but the difference – the difference is that they’re very isolated, and it’s easy to avoid any human interaction at all on the full moon. There are fields and forests that stretch on for miles. So for some of them, maybe, it’d been more a lack of accessibility than any moral code. Kevin has never really thought about it that way before.

Now, though, with Zac grinning this big, friendly, all-teeth grin at Kevin, leaning back against his kitchen sink – Kevin feels dread settle in his stomach. They won’t let Zac get away with it, if he’s responsible.

Kevin doesn’t want to be mixed up in the middle of this, but he still has a sense of pack, something in him still considers Zac his own, so it’s hard to keep a clear head about it all. Zac has always been a little bit more than Kevin could handle. Always bigger and meaner, too, like some switch flips in his head with his change – a personality split that makes his affable human form that much more disturbing.

Kevin says, “You can’t stay, Zac.”

Zac keeps his grin and says, “Sure I can,” and rings an arm around Kevin’s shoulders, tugging him into his side.

*

There’s word of another attack, this one closer to a residential area, and Bryar pulls Kevin aside to make sure he’s all right.

“I’m fine,” Kevin says.

Bryar eyes him steadily. He says, slow, “Right.”

“I am,” Kevin insists, even though he isn’t, exactly. He doesn’t know how to make Zac leave, and he doesn’t know how to keep everyone else from blaming Zac for the killings.

Bryar’s gaze drifts past his shoulder, and then Kevin feels a warm, calloused hand wrap over his nape, and Kevin melts a little, like his body already knows it’s Mike, even though he can’t see him.

This is new. Mike hasn’t even looked at him in weeks, and now he’s silently pressing up all along his back, and Bryar’s nodding at him, short and decisive, and Kevin thinks maybe they’ve decided something about _him_.

Mike’s chin is on his shoulder, and then Mike’s voice is in his ear, soft and low. “Who is it?” he says.

“Uh.”

Bryar crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance, like he’s settling in for a long wait.

“Kevin,” Mike says, and his other hand settles at his waist, fingers brushing his hipbone.

This, this right here, Kevin thinks, is not fair at all. “I don’t know.”

Mike’s nails dig shallow grooves in Kevin’s nape. “That’s a lie,” he says.

“It’s not—”

“Greta says you knew him,” Bryar says, and Kevin _hates_ this. Hates that he feels like he can’t tell them the truth. That Zac, right then, is probably eating all his food, sprawled out on his couch.

“I don’t—”

Mike’s blunt teeth graze the side of his throat, Kevin shivers, then Mike clamps down harder, more pressure than sting, and Kevin’s mind whites out – when he blinks clear again he thinks only seconds have passed, and he feels Mike’s forehead heavy on his shoulder blade, and Bryar’s saying, “Think very carefully about lying to us again,” and Kevin feels like _crying_ and he feels like curling up inside of Mike’s arms and he feels like running away.

He swallows it all back and says thickly, “He’s staying on my couch.”

*

Brendon swings down from his fire escape, landing like a cat in front of Kevin as he passes by. He flips his hat off his head with a flourish, tucks it under his arm. “Interesting company you’re keeping,” he says.

Kevin stares at him. “What?”

Brendon grins, wide and horrible. “You should warn him about strangers in the big bad city, he almost let me inside.”

“ _What_?”

“Oh, seriously, you worry too much.” Brendon waves a hand. “He caught on before it got that far.” He leans his face close to Kevin’s, grin never dropping. “We’re not so bad, you know,” he says.

Kevin can’t blink. He can feel the tip of Brendon’s nose touch his, but he can’t move away. And then Brendon’s jerking back, laughing, and Mike’s shoving at Brendon’s shoulder and calling him a _dickwad_ , and then there’s only Mike, breathing hard, standing on the sidewalk in a thin jacket and jeans with holes in the knees.

Mike growls a little under his breath, then says, “I’m coming up,” and Kevin correctly guesses that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

*

Mike and Zac very obviously hate each other on sight.

Zac shows it in wide smiles and hostile eyes, and Mike just scowls and looks like he’s two seconds away from punching Zac in the face.

Kevin would be amused if he wasn’t very close to having a panic attack.

He hides in the kitchen and dials Joe on his cell and hisses, “ _Help_ ,” when Joe picks up on the third ring, because it’s the only thing he can think to do.

“What’s wrong?”

Kevin takes a deep breath. “Did you send Zac here?”

“What, did—no, are you kidding, Zac’s an obsessive freak, you know he loves you, right?”

“No, I—what?” Kevin shoves a hand through his hair. “Joe, Zac’s _here_. He’s been here for two days.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“Do _not_ tell Nick,” Kevin says. He’s regretting this whole call now. He really thought maybe—but that’s stupid. Nick and Joe _trust him_ , even if they’d probably panic if he ever missed a check-in call.

Joe says, “I might have to.”

“I’m handling it,” Kevin says. He’s not, but it’s better than having his brothers show up. _Then_ it’ll be a party.

“Kev—”

“No, it’s fine, I’m just, you know, trying to avoid Mike killing him.”

Joe snickers, slyly amused. “Oh.”

Kevin’s cheeks heat up. “It’s not like that.” He doesn’t _think_ it’s like that, but he’s really not so sure.

“Yeah, I’m having a hard time believing that,” Joe says, and Kevin hangs up on him.

*

Kevin has trouble sleeping that night. He strains to hear any noises from the outer room and he tosses and turns, body strung tight with nerves. He’s not even sure why Mike’s still there - the full moon isn’t for another three weeks, and Kevin’s known Zac for five years, he really doesn’t think he’d hurt him.

But Kevin isn’t going to throw Mike out, and Mike seems determined to camp out in his single armchair, so. So now Kevin’s just waiting for some sort of brawl to break out in the middle of his living room.

He sighs heavily, eyes wide on the ceiling. Light from a streetlamp throws patterns in the shape of his windows, and with each blink, the room seems to grow brighter and brighter. He rests an arm over his face, tries to will his muscles to relax, one by one, cataloging all his parts until he gets to his head, his mouth, his nose. And then he feels the bed dip and he jerks tense again, heart pounding.

“What—”

“They can hear your bed creaking in Canada, kid, just fucking _go to sleep_.”

Kevin inhales sharply. Mike’s shifting on the other side of his bed, he’s _lying down_ , and Kevin is having trouble breathing. “What are you—”

Mike curls an arm over Kevin’s waist, tugs him up against him, turning on his side, his weight warm and solid and— _familiar_ , all along Kevin’s body. Mike spreads a hand on his stomach and says, “Sleep, Jonas.”

Kevin wriggles a little in his grip, he’s at an awkward angle, and he finally settles with Mike spooning up against his back, Mike’s damp breath on his nape. Mike tips his head forward ‘til they’re touching, forehead to the top of Kevin’s spine. Kevin’s pretty sure Mike’s not only still wearing all his clothes, but that he’s not even under the blankets. And Kevin always sleeps in full flannel pajamas in the winter, but this still feels like the most intimate Kevin’s ever been with anybody ever, and Kevin’s had _sex_. Once. And he was going to marry her, except it turns out she’d had a real problem with, uh, his kind.

“Christ, kid,” Mike’s voice is muffled, “shut your brain off or I’ll shut it off for you.” He mouths the knob of Kevin’s spine; Kevin feels the light scrape of teeth, and he lets out a long breath, feels the release of air all the way down to his fingertips, his toes.

He doesn’t even remember closing his eyes.

*

“You know the story about the man and the lion?” Ross says without looking up from where he’s hunched over the front counter.

“Huh?”

Ross flips his magazine closed, pins Kevin with a look, like maybe he’s judging Kevin’s ability to read. “The man that pulls a thorn from the lion’s paw. That story.”

Kevin bites his lower lip, not sure where this is going. “I guess?”

“Right.” Ross straightens up on his stool and pushes his hair back off his forehead. “The man helps the lion, and the lion decides to let the man live instead of eating him. Later, the man’s condemned to death in the arena, only the lion who’s supposed to kill him is the same one he’d helped earlier. So the lion recognizes him, remembers his kindness, and chooses to greet him as a friend instead. Now,” he taps his fingers on the cover of his magazine, “imagine that the man, under certain conditions, could probably tear the lion apart, and that the lion is actually a sick fuck who’s partial to psycho mind fuckery. Imagine that, and you have Mike and Bill.”

“So,” Kevin says, trying to remember what that fable was about, “they’re friends.” Although that part’s kind of always been obvious.

“Yeah.” Ross snorts. “Yeah,” he says again, “only the problem is, there’s another way that story ends.” He arches his eyebrow pointedly, waits a beat, then goes back to his reading.

“Um.” Kevin gets what’s _implied_ here, but— “What’s the other ending?”

“The lion’s hungry. So he eats him anyway.”

*

Zac hangs out at the bookstore exactly once, but Ross keeps glaring at him and Zac spends a half hour spread out on the floor in the travel section, whining about how _bored_ he is, so after that Kevin isn’t sure what Zac does with his days.

At night, he’s still on Kevin’s couch.

Mike, after that one showdown, is essentially pretending Zac doesn’t exist at all. The only good thing about that is that Mike can apparently only ignore one person at a time, so Kevin’s somehow back on his radar. At least, Kevin _thinks_ this is a good thing. He really, really likes it when Mike isn’t ignoring him.

Mike isn’t being totally _friendly_ with him, but he sits with him at lunch, sometimes, and leaves half open bags of skittles for him when he’s at the register, and he—well, they don’t talk, and Kevin’s pretty sure Mike’s avoiding touching him, but other than that it’s pretty awesome.

Four days before the full moon, Walker swings into the shop, frustration tensing all the lines of his body.

“No one knows anything. That’s the official word,” Walker says. He leans a hip against the counter. “Everyone’s twitchy, Siska and Butcher are holed up with Greta, Frank’s disappeared. You don’t think—?”

Ross frowns. “I don’t think Frank even kills bunnies, Jon.”

Kevin would like to be able to say he doesn’t kill bunnies either, but bunnies are delicious. He can’t help himself.

“Frank’s running an errand for me,” Bryar says gruffly from inside his office. He steps into the doorway, hand braced on the jamb.

Kevin doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him. He scratches the back of his neck and shifts a little and ducks his head.

“What kind of errand?” Walker asks.

Bryar arches an eyebrow. “An important one.”

It sounds ominous to Kevin, but Walker just grins.

*

Kevin jumps a little when Brendon materializes out of the darkness and flings an arm across Kevin’s shoulders. There’s someone hovering behind him, someone in a black suit, dark blonde hair messy under a bowler hat. He’s got his hands in his pockets, grinning just enough to show his fangs, and he somehow creeps Kevin out more than even Brendon.

“I’ve figured something out, Jonas,” Brendon says. He nuzzles into Kevin’s neck, cold and clammy. “Well, I’ve figured two things out, but one of them you’re not getting without a kiss.”

“Nice, Urie,” the other vampire says, and Kevin’s sort of frozen with steadily building horror, but he’s pretty sure he has an accent.

“Maybe a nibble instead,” Brendon amends.

Kevin feels a slight sting at his neck and he automatically jabs out an elbow – it won’t do him much good, really, if Brendon decides he wants a taste.

Brendon just laughs, though, and keeps clinging to Kevin like a monkey. “We need to make a deal, you and I,” he says between giggles.

“Uh, no,” Kevin says.

“Fine, fine,” Brendon says. He doesn’t sound all that upset about it. “I’ll just tell you one, then. Without the snack.” Palming Kevin’s face, he turns his head so Kevin’s looking him in the eyes. “You know, of course, that that was the good one. The _juicy_ one.” He sucks his lower lip under his teeth in a close-mouthed grin; blood wells thickly from where he’s sliced it open, and his tongue darts out, slicking over it. Kevin feels nausea rising from the pit of his stomach.

The other vampire says, “Carden’s probably lurking,” like it’s a reminder, and Brendon leans in close to Kevin, brushes his nose along the side of Kevin’s.

Even without Nick’s strong sense of smell, Kevin has to swallow bile back at the metallic tang of a recent feed.

“I like you,” Brendon says.

Kevin blinks. He’s pretty sure Brendon’s said that to him before.

“I like you, Jonas, because, unlike Bill, I don’t particularly like Mike. He’s an overgrown mongrel who’s worn out his welcome.” Brendon stares at Kevin, eerily amused. “I could take you from him,” he says in a whisper; it echoes strangely in Kevin’s head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“N-no,” Kevin says, stammering a little. Brendon’s eyes are almost all black, almost all pupil.

“It’ll be fun,” Brendon says. “We’ve done it before.”

Kevin says, faintly, “What?” because what does that mean? Done _what_ before?

“Think about it.” Brendon shrugs a little. “Or don’t, of course, I’m not planning on giving you much of a choice.” He tilts his head, licks the length of Kevin’s cheek, and then he’s gone.

*

Mike practically pounces on Kevin when Kevin arrives at the bookstore for his evening shift. He shoves him into the storeroom and says, “You’ve got blood on your face.”

Kevin rubs at his cheek with the end of his sleeve. “Thanks.”

Mike has really intense eyes. They’re kind of staring into Kevin’s soul. “Something you want to tell me, Jonas?”

Kevin leaves his hand fisted up against his face, cotton sleeve tucked under his fingers. “Um. Brendon?”

Mike looks at him expectantly.

“I just,” Kevin shrugs, arm falling, “got the impression that he, uh, might want to eat me.”

“I see.” Mike’s mouth gets tight and his eyes get scary, but Kevin’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s not mad at _him_.

“There was some licking,” Kevin says.

“Licking,” Mike echoes, deadpan.

Kevin nods. “Apparently, he doesn’t like you very much.”

Kevin isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but the sudden slow grin and wicked amusement takes him completely by surprise. And then Mike’s got one arm around Kevin’s waist, pulling him close, and Mike tucks his head onto Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin can feel his warm smile against his skin; Mike nips the side of his neck. With his other hand, he smoothes back Kevin’s hair, moves down to firmly grip his nape.

“You were mine before Conrad’s, you know,” he says. He pulls back a little, mouth still quirked up.

“I—” Kevin opens and closes his mouth. He doesn’t really know what to do with that. “I’m not. _Conrad’s_?”

Mike leans his face closer to Kevin’s, lowers his voice. “Pack, kid. I claimed you first. And Conrad knows it.”

“Oh.” Kevin remembers everything from before, remembers the space Mike had _never_ given him, and feels a hot flush start up from his chest, heartbeat heavy, knocking against his ribs. “What does that—you _were_ pack.”

Mike nods slowly. His fingers slip around, press into Kevin’s lower lip, calluses catching at the corners. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “We’ll work it out.”

*

The morning of the next full moon, Kevin opens his door to find his brothers.

“Crap,” he says.

Joe looks like he’s about to crack up, but Nick’s frowning.

A short guy bundled up in a red parka says, “Hey, I’m Frank.” He waves a hand. “I brought you things. People things, who have some kind of hang-up about personal space, I dunno.” Frank shrugs.

“You jumped on my back, I think I have permanent damage,” Nick says.

Frank punches his shoulder. “Don’t be such a baby.” He pushes past Kevin and drops down onto his sofa. “Doritos, _sweet_.”

Kevin looks from Nick and Joe to Frank and back again. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Nick narrows his eyes. “Where’s Zac?”

Kevin scowls at Joe, and Joe holds up his hands and says, “I didn’t tell him,” and Nick says, “ _Frank_ told me,” and, “I don’t really appreciate you two keeping all these secrets from me,” with a really pissy and kind of hilarious expression on his face.

Joe rolls his eyes. “Get over it, geez, there’s no way I’m telling you everything, you’re like a giant fun-killer.”

“Joe—”

“A killer of _fun_ ,” Joe says.

“He’s right, dude,” Frank says, mouth full of chips. “You strangle the fuck out of fun.”

Nick stomps his foot and waves his arms around a little and Joe covers his mouth with the back of his hand, but his eyes are dancing.

Kevin bites his lip around a smile, because, okay, he doesn’t really want them there, but he has missed them.

And then the bathroom door slams open and Zac steps out with an undersized towel slung around his waist. He shakes excess water from his hair, spots Nick and Joe and says, “Guys! _Awesome_.”

*

Kevin likes feeling the hard-packed, frozen dirt under his paws. He likes how the cold makes everything smell cleaner, he likes how he can see his breath puff out after a long, satisfying run.

He hangs his head, muscles rippling under his fur, tingling with pleasant warmth in the frigid air. His nose twitches, searching for his brothers. He pauses, though; something’s off.

_Zac?_ he thinks, hearing the muffled noises of something—stumbling, it sounds like, not too far off, and then he smells it. Smells it _wrong_ , like Mike almost, but _worse_. He growls, a low warning, and whoever it is growls back menacingly under heavy panting – not Mike, Kevin thinks, but it’s so familiar in that moment, he’s not entirely sure.

Dead things. Vampires. Not _of_ vampires, but just vampire and wolf, and it’s confusing, and Kevin starts backing away, wonders if he should just spin around and make a run for it.

Several things happen at once.

A familiar black wolf rips out of the bushes, and Kevin huffs a relieved breath as it skids to halt in front of him, legs splayed in a protective stance. But then William’s there with several others, melting in from the shadows, his lethally sharp blade brandished, and a strong hand comes down to clutch into Kevin’s ruff. He twists his head to see a huge vampire standing over him, definitely _not_ one of William’s gang, in ripped clothes and a killer gold smile. Kevin thinks maybe he could snap his neck with a squeeze of his fingers.

No one else is paying any attention to Kevin, though. They’re staring at the dazed, long-legged wolf on the opposite side of the path – lips pulled back in a snarl, saliva dripping off his canines. Over the scent of death, Kevin can smell _sickness_.

“Well,” William says, “I think we’ve found our problem.” He steps towards the sick wolf, knife lifted. The wolf snaps out, but doesn’t move to attack yet, and Mike lunges forward and grabs William’s sleeve with surprisingly gentle teeth.

William tries to shake him off, arches an eyebrow at Mike. “He’s a mistake. We all know it. Except for possibly Brendon and Michael Guy, who will be properly punished, you needn’t worry.”

Mike growls, and then another wolf joins in, stepping out of the trees, stockier than Mike, but almost as dark. Conrad.

He knocks Mike with his shoulder as he passes, but Mike doesn’t flinch.

Kevin thinks this is all really bad. Especially since Conrad and Mike and William are all busy staring at each other, and who knows what the other vampires are doing, but no one except Kevin seems to notice when the vicious, sick werewolf _moves_. When his growls get throatier, and his glazed eyes get wild, and Kevin figures that he’s someone they know, someone in the pack, but he really looks like he’s about to tear someone into tiny, bloody shreds.

Kevin arches around again, mouth snapping, and the vampire holding him loosens his grip in surprise – Kevin doesn’t hesitate, just squirms and lunges and he barrels into the sick werewolf before he can attempt to rip anyone’s throat open.

It’s admittedly not the best plan, but it’s the only one he has.

*

Kevin does not feel good. Kevin feels like crap, there’s a hunter leaning over him, frowning, and Kevin’s – here’s the really scary part – _still a wolf_.

It’s past sunrise, the window above him framing Patrick’s head with mellow gold. Which means Kevin’s pretty bad off. There’s only one reason anyone ever gets stuck in a change. He tenses, a fresh wave of pain rolling over him. His entire body hurts.

“Stay still,” Patrick says calmly, even though Kevin has no intention of moving. Distantly, he can hear Nick yelling about _massive, gaping wounds_ , and Patrick’s mouth quirks up on one side. “It’s not that bad. You’ll be fine.”

Kevin snorts, then thinks _ow, ow, ow_ , he barely feels Patrick’s hands petting down his side, and Patrick says, “Okay, I’m knocking you out again.”

*

Kevin has very few visitors other than his brothers and Zac. When it gets dark outside again, Greta shuffles into the room with her hand wrapped around the wrist of a pale and shaken Siska.

Kevin has met Siska once, months ago, and he looks how Kevin feels. Dark circles under his eyes, stick-thin, gray.

Greta kneels by Kevin’s side and says, “Oh, baby,” and cards her fingers gently through Kevin’s fur, and Siska hovers behind her, fidgeting.

Greta gives him a sharp glance over her shoulder. “It’s not your _fault_ , Adam,” she says.

Siska shrugs stiffly, and Greta clucks her tongue and leans over Kevin again.

Kevin whimpers, and he thumps his tail along the floor. He likes Greta. She smells nice.

“It’s fine, baby,” she says soothingly. “Adam’s so sorry, he isn’t himself anymore. He couldn’t help it.”

“Greta, don’t.” Siska sounds kind of broken. It makes Kevin squirm inside – he doesn’t blame Siska for this, the scent of _wrongness_ still clings all over him, Kevin can taste it in the back of his mouth.

“Oh, it’s true and you know it, Adam T. Siska,” Greta says sternly.

Siska just sniffs wetly and rubs the backs of two fingers under his nose.

*

As far as Kevin can glean from the snatches of conversation going on around him, a vampire tried to turn Siska, and he ended up turning him wrong. Or maybe werewolves can’t turn properly, Kevin doesn’t know.

It’s almost like rabies, when he changes, or as close to being rabies without actually being rabies.

Nick’s been throwing around the word _rabies_ a lot; it’s kind of stuck in Kevin’s head.

Joe settles next to Kevin on the floor and stretches out his feet, leaning back on his palms. He says, “You almost made Nick cry.”

Kevin shifts so he’s resting his head on Joe’s thigh, and he’s delighted when the slight movement doesn’t cause him to black out in pain. Either he’s getting better – werewolves heal relatively quickly, which is a blessing – or Patrick’s still giving him the good drugs.

Joe sits up, scratches Kevin between his ears. “His eyes got all watery and everything, I thought maybe he was having a seizure.”

Kevin sweeps his tail up and down once, twice.

Joe sighs. “Any day now, Kev,” he says. “Feel free to become a real boy.”

*

Mike sneaks in when he’s sleeping. Kevin knows this, because his blankets always smell like him when he wakes up. He has no idea how Mike does it, and he’d much rather just _see_ him, but it’s kind of comforting anyway.

*

It takes nearly two weeks before Kevin wakes up human again. Two weeks, and he’s got red, angry wounds all down his throat and chest and it still hurts to move, but they let him go home.

Patrick gives him a goody bag of painkillers and antibiotics and Trohman slips him some _marijuana_ , geez, and Bob gives him stoic, mothering looks as he gently eases him into his car.

Kevin wants his bed. He wants his ruined couch and his thirteen inch TV and his stove that has only one working burner. He wants his bathroom with the cracked toilet bowl and his precisely-five-minutes-of-hot-water shower.

Now that he thinks about it, he kind of reeks.

He’s too tired from moving, though, to do much of anything when they finally get him into his apartment building and up the stairs, and he tunes out Nick’s rambling as he wears a path in the rug, pacing back and forth in front of the TV. He only snaps to attention when he hears Nick say, “We’ll give it a week, you should be able to travel by then,” and Kevin goes, “What?”

Nick stops by him, hands on his hips. “Home, Kev,” he says.

Kevin shakes his head slightly – he kind of just makes one abortive movement and a grimace. “I’m not—Nick, I _am_ home.” It’s not the greatest home or anything, he could do with an adult-sized refrigerator and less bugs, but it’s _his_ , and he loves his brothers, but they tend to drive him crazy.

Nick stares at him, mouth tight, until Joe bumps Nick’s shoulder and says, “We’re totally sending Frankie down, then, he’s gonna be thirteen soon, Kev. I’m thinking we might end up with an angry mob, kill-the-beast scenario. He’s been following Trace around for weeks.”

“Joe,” Nick says, frowning.

“Y’all don’t have to worry,” Zac says, coming out of the kitchen, one hand deep into a box of Kevin’s Captain Crunch. “I’m not going anywhere. Kevin’ll be awesome at all times under my watch.”

Kevin doesn’t really know what to say to that. He mutters, “Perfect,” and all sarcasm is lost on Zac, so he only beams at him and gives him a thumbs-up.

*

A big aspect about the city that Kevin’s probably never going to get used to is all the vampires. One of them steps out of a building’s shadow on soft, silent feet as Kevin walks by, twirling a silver-tipped cane. Kevin tenses, then relaxes when he recognizes him.

William cocks his head curiously. “Jonas. I’m afraid you’re being far too indulgent of my nature.”

“Um. What?”

“You should never trust me,” William says, eyes gleaming. “I’ll turn on you at the nearest opportunity.”

Kevin swallows hard. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Fair warning, puppy.” He tips his hat back off his forehead with his thumb. “I’m doing you a good turn. I do appreciate you leaping into harm’s way for us, you know. It’s rather adorable, really.”

“No problem?” Kevin really hadn’t done it for William, but he’s not going to point that out now.

“Oh, and Brendon wants to eat you,” William says flippantly. “He wanted to turn you, but I’ve laid down more stringent rules against that now, after the whole Siska fiasco. Nobody needs that kind of mess.”

Kevin blanches. Because of the Brendon thing, and also because of the Siska thing – Bob says he’s going to be fine, just _different_ , and that they’ll all have to get used to it. It’s still scary.

“What about Mike?” Kevin asks, Ross’s words echoing in his head: lions get hungry. William’s basically _saying_ that.

William shrugs. “Mike’s useful.” He runs a gloved finger over Kevin’s jaw, and Kevin shivers involuntarily. William notices and grins, thin and malicious, fangs pressed into his stretched lower lip. “Don’t worry about him, though. Mike knows enough not to trust me either.”

*

_Conrad knows it_ , Kevin thinks, standing next to Mike, watching him fiddle with the register. Conrad had known it, when he’d accepted Kevin into the pack, but what does that mean?

He asks Mike and Mike arches an eyebrow at him. “It’s his passive-aggressive way of telling me to fuck off,” he says. The words are harsh, but his eyes are kind of smiling. “And also to come home again.”

Kevin rubs a palm over his chest, easing the ache that’s lodged along the healing gashes from leaning against the counter too long. “Home,” Kevin says.

“You’re a lure, kid,” Mike says, hooking two fingers into the top of Kevin’s shirt, stretching the collar, the worn material easily giving to expose the hollow of his throat. “He misses me. He’s just too much of a dick to actually say that to my face.”

Kevin’s cheeks heat. “I’m a— _only_ that?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Stop fishing, Jonas, Christ. Bob thinks you invented Ford cars, it’s like he’s adopted you.”

“Right,” Kevin says, not entirely reassured.

Mike absently fiddles with Kevin’s frayed hem, thumb brushing bare skin. “Ross—well, Ross doesn’t think you’re a complete idiot, and Greta stops by at least twice a day to make sure you’re okay. Hell, even Trohman and Stump like having you around, Trohman gave you his fucking stash.” Mike frowns. “Which reminds me, the next time you see Brendon, kick him in the balls and run for it.”

Kevin blinks. “Okay?” He doesn’t have a lot of confidence in his kicking ability, though. Maybe he should just carry mace.

Mike smirks, tugs on Kevin’s shirt, says, “C’mere,” even though it’s not like Kevin’s resisting.

Mike’s gotta know Kevin would pretty much do anything for him. It’s embarrassing, but Kevin’s always been that way about the people he loves.

Mike’s thumb settles more firmly against his throat, bumping up against his adam’s apple, and he gazes at Kevin’s lips, this seriously intent gleam in his eyes. Every drop of moisture evaporates from Kevin’s mouth, because Mike has never kissed him before. Mike’s touched and bit, hands and mouth and teeth in strangely intimate places – neck, hips, belly, back – but that happens, sometimes, with their kind. Werewolves are close-knit and affectionate, usually in both forms.

Kevin clears his throat, manages, “What about you?”

“I like you just fine,” Mike says. “I thought we already established that.”

Kevin nods, smile blooming. He brings a hand up, grasps Mike’s forearm with light fingers, presses down so the inside of Mike’s wrist rests flat along Kevin’s sternum.

Mike leans in, warm breath ghosting Kevin’s lips. He says softly, “If Efron ever touches you, I’ll break all his fingers. You might want to consider telling him to get his own place.”

*

Mike kisses how he touches, intent and forceful, without any hesitation. He kisses how he bites, too, and Kevin feels the scrape of teeth along his lower lip and lets Mike’s tongue slip inside, licking over lips, teeth, feels a shivery tingle down his spine when it touches his own. Mike’s mouth is a total distraction, because otherwise Kevin would’ve been upset about the Zac thing, he’s sure of it. Maybe. Kevin’s never found overprotection very comforting, but he supposes there’d be a difference between his brothers and Mike.

And then Ross says, “We all use that counter, you know,” and, “Noises! You’re making _gross noises_ , seriously,” and, “Oh, fuck it,” and then Kevin hears Walker say, “Well, it’s kind of hot, right?” and Kevin is probably going to be mortified when he thinks about this later, but right now Mike’s got a hand down his pants and Kevin’s thinking about sliding his mouth down Mike’s throat and maybe doing some biting of his own.

*

Joe doesn’t get sentimental very often. Kevin’s the one who’s always saying _I love you_ , and Joe makes impatient sounds, because Kevin’s just saying stuff that he already knows.

Joe leaves him a voicemail. He says, “I’m glad, you know. You seem happy,” and his voice is small and secretive, and Kevin can see him in his mind, cheeks topped with red, embarrassed by his words. He says, “You needed this,” and, “Nick understands,” but then he ends with, “We’re still sending you Frankie, I wasn’t joking,” and Kevin grins while he listens, and maybe he saves it and replays it a few times, but it’s not like anyone’ll know.


End file.
